


Designated Driver

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Kira, BAMF Lydia Martin, Banshee Lydia Martin, Car Accidents, Depression, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Happy Ending, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Oblivious Scott, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Pre-Slash, Scott is a Bad Friend, Stiles Feels, Stiles Needs a Hug, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is tired of feeling like he's only invited to pack meetings so he can drive the other humans home. Come to think of it, he's just tired. Period. When a meeting ends with him left alone in the middle of nowhere, he's sure he can manage to drive back into town by himself, without supervision. Right? Not so much.<br/>After a car accident leaves him fighting to hold on to his future, the pack appears to abandon him when he needs them most. Is this the last straw for a Stiles who is struggling to remember why he is fighting, or is there someone who can give him something to fight for again? Because Derek has a secret, one that he's kept for far too long, and the truth could change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You coming tonight, man,” Scott’s voice startles Stiles out of his algebra-induced stupor, and he blinks up at his best friend a few times before his face swims into view. Scott grins down at him as he swings his heavy bag across one shoulder and shoves his chair under the desk in front of Stiles’ own.

“What?” Stiles asks, pushing himself up out of his chair as he glances around and notices that everyone else in the class is already joining the slow-moving line trying to exit out into the hallway. He quickly shoves his heavy textbook into his bag and swings it off the floor and onto his back.

“Pack meeting,” Scott tells him, sounding exasperated at having to repeat himself. Stiles thinks that Scott might have been talking for a while before he tuned in, and feels bad for not paying attention. He’s just so tired from the amount of pack activities that have been going on over the past few weeks. It seems to him like the wolves among them never seem to get tired, and he has to remind himself almost daily that keeping up with that level of – for want of a better word – intensity is just not possible. Not for a human anyway.

“Where?” he asks, because he really wasn’t listening at all, even if Scott had already told him.

“That awesome clearing that Boyd and Erica found last time they disappeared for a few days to ‘be with nature’.” Scott snorts and Stiles can’t help but smirk at Erica’s choice of words. It wasn’t as if anyone was under the impression that the two of them were frolicking with bunnies or damn deer or anything but, if they wanted to keep their relationship away from overly-curious pack eyes, that was fine by Stiles. The betas all lived on top of each other in the refurbished Hale house anyway and that made keeping secrets really difficult, so more power to them for trying.

“So… You’re coming right?” Scott asks again but this time Stiles catches a slight twinge of hesitation in Scott’s voice, as if, if Stiles didn’t say yes, Scott would be in some kind of trouble. Stiles’ brow furrows in resigned realisation. God damn it!

“I’m the designated driver, aren’t I?” Stiles sighs. He doesn’t mean the words to come out so bitterly, but Scott doesn’t seem to notice. He’s been the taxi service for the rest of the pack humans almost every night this week, and at least twice last week. The full moon tomorrow night means that the pack has started to get super into running around, sporting sideburns and claws, over the past few days, leaving him to make sure those without the ability to wolf-out got home safely. He was starting to get the uncomfortable feeling that he sometimes got invited to pack meetings just so they could use his Jeep and his bottomless generous nature.

“Jackson’s got extra English tutoring, so he won’t be there till, like, eight at least,” Scott explains. Stiles rolls his eyes. The boy is built like… well, like a lacrosse player… but he has a brain like a sieve. A sarcastic, antagonistic sieve, but with enough holes in it that he might just forget how to read if Lydia doesn’t make him read the label on his tub of protein powder every day before school. “Lydia will need a lift, and Allison asked me to see if you’d give her one too. You know, if you’re going and all.”

“Yeah, fine,” Stiles sighs. He guesses that one more night of tramping round in some field or forest somewhere till midnight won’t kill him. And anyway, it’s the weekend. He’s got time to sleep tomorrow. He just wishes that people would start asking him first, before they assumed he’d be happy to be the designated schmuck with a car for the night.

“Great! I’ll let her know,” Scott says happily. They’ve made their way into the hallway now, and Scott’s locker is right across from the classroom. “I’ll text you the address later. See you there at six.”

He turns his back on Stiles to enter his locker combination and Stiles gets the distinct feeling that he has just been dismissed. After pausing for a few seconds, as if subconsciously making sure the conversation is really over, Stiles heads down the hall a few paces to his own locker. He shoves his books inside, grabs what he needs quickly and heads straight for the doors. He doesn’t look back, and nobody stops him. He has a feeling deep in his gut that he ought to turn right around and go back, that he should tell Scott that he doesn’t feel like going and that Allison should take her own car tonight, but he doesn’t. He just lets his shoulders droop in defeat and follows the mass of other students out into the parking lot.

***

“Thanks so much for the ride, Stiles.” Alison slides into the rear driver’s side of his Jeep and squeezes Stiles’ shoulder familiarly after she pulls the door shut. “We really appreciate it, don’t we Lydia?”

“Mmmmph,” Lydia responds, as she attempts to fasten her lap-belt while texting furiously. Messaging Jackson, Stiles suspects. She’s always texting Jackson when he’s not standing right beside her, and sometimes even then.

“No problem,” Stiles tells them both with a tired smile. He appreciates the words of gratitude. Alison has always been polite like that, and Lydia – well, from Lydia an ‘mmmmph’ is about as much as anyone deserves. Lydia is a handy girl to have on speed-dial in a jam, and Stiles probably owes her more favours – from last minute homework help to the whole Banshee deal – than he’ll be able to repay in a lifetime. He’d drive Lydia to the moon and back if she’d mentioned once that the sunbathing there might be better.

That isn’t to say that he still holds a torch for the redhead. That’s freshman year’s dirty laundry.  He’d willingly die for her though, if he thought it would help any. The whole pack would! Besides, he’s pining after someone else now that he also can’t have, someone his dad would approve of a whole hell of a lot less than Lydia Martin.

“Where is this clearing anyway?” Lydia’s voice, after they had travelled a few miles out of town, disrupts Stiles’ subconscious mind from its musings about whether any of the pack would die for him like they would for Alison or Lydia. ‘Probably not’ was the hands-down conclusion of that particular diatribe.

Comedic relief and hapless sidekick he was awesome at, but essential he most definitely was not. Thank God Scott liked him. And maybe, just maybe, someone else liked him enough to allow him to carry on turning up to pack meetings for a pack he wasn’t really a part of. Pack meetings during which he mostly stared stalkerishly at the person in question and tried not to get caught looking by the freakishly perceptive wolf contingent present.

Yeah, really useful there Stiles!

“It’s somewhere out by the county line, right Stiles?” Alison chimes in, and Stiles blinks. Lydia is still waiting for an answer.

“Sorry Lyd,” he mumbles, then clears his throat. “It’s up near the mile marker that got cracked in that storm a few months back.” She smiles across at him from the front passenger seat then goes back to typing on her phone without a word, smoothly flipping an errant lock of hair over her shoulder with a single finger. Stiles grins to himself, then schools his expression into one more neutral. Lydia is one of a kind; cool as hell, without even trying. She is the only one in their group of friends who doesn’t make Stiles feel more inadequate than everyone else just by breathing, because she does that with everyone. It’s a refreshing feeling.

“Nearly there,” he calls out as he spots a familiar fallen tree by the side of the road. The words come out more enthusiastically than anything he’s said all day. Maybe tonight won’t be all bad, he thinks hopefully.

He still has the unshakable feeling that something in his life will change forever tonight. However maybe, just maybe, that something will be a good something for once. Stiles thinks he might be due a good thing or two soon.

***

“I spoke too soon,” Stiles mutters to himself grumpily as he takes a swig from an almost empty bottle of soda. “Totally not worth it.” It’s been almost two hours since he pulled the Jeep up on the grassy edge of the road, since he helped first Lydia then Alison down the steep, muddy bank into the woods. He’s sitting on a large tree stump near the edge of the wide, empty clearing, and he’s freaking cold. It’s starting to rain, he’s out of soda and he’s been completely ignored for over twenty minutes.

“Not worth what?” Isaac calls over, and Stiles’ head snaps up automatically to seek out the beta’s voice. He’s on the near edge of the group, which is far enough away that the others wouldn’t have heard Stiles’ whispered inner monologue. His shirt is off, lying in a pile at Stiles’ feet alongside an assortment of garments from the rest of the pack. As usual it’s like watching a runway show for How-Not-To-Look-As-Pale-As-Stiles, the fall collection, and, as usual, Stiles is trying not to look. Too much flesh, rippling muscles, and – good God Almighty, the combination of sweat and rain water dripping down Der… Nope, not going there!

“Nothing, dude!” Stiles calls. Isaac stares at him for a second then shrugs and turns back to face Scott, who has been attempting to sneak up on him while his back was turned. The two of them quickly settle back into a familiar pattern of circling each other and growling, so Stiles lets his eyes wander to the other pairs spread out across the clearing. Erica and Boyd are paired up like always, and Derek is currently letting Liam win, as usual. No one can resist the puppy-dog eyes on that kid, least of all Mr Big-Bad himself.

Lydia and Alison left not long ago, shortly after Jackson had deigned to join the rest of his pack. He had complained at length about his freshly waxed Porsche getting muddy, and Lydia’s un-wolf-enlightened mom still kept her on a strict curfew, so Jackson had driven the two of them back to Lydia’s. Alison was staying over at Lydia’s tonight, so it had made sense that she’d go too, but Stiles hadn’t realised until they were gone that it effectively made him the odd one out at an impromptu wolfy training session.

Not that it was an official training session, per se. Those, from what Stiles had seen, tended to involve more sprints and sit ups than sparring. He’d actually tried to take part once, even with Derek going easy on him, but, after throwing up less than twenty minutes in, he’d bowed out of participation in those with grace. He only slowed them down.

He always slowed them down.

“Can’t catch me,” Liam barks out, baring his elongated canines in a wide smile and dancing away from Derek as the Alpha charges him much slower than he would have done with any of the other Betas. “Not even close.” Derek misses him on purpose by inches, and Liam is getting cocky.

Look out idiot, Stiles thinks as he watches. He sees Derek’s eyes tighten a fraction, even from across the clearing, and sits up straighter. He knows what that look was for – knows what all of Derek’s expressions mean. This one means that he is done playing. Little Liam is about to get his ass handed to him, and Stiles isn’t going to miss a second of it. He’d never admit it, not really even to himself, but watching Derek get aggressive with a petulant beta is kind of… well, it isn’t as scary as it was once upon a time when he and Scott had first met the werewolf.

Derek pounces without warning, faster than Stiles’ human eyes can track, and suddenly Liam is flat on his back in the dirt, one huge hand around his neck and another full of claws above him ready to strike. The alpha pauses for a moment, appreciating the healthy dose of shock and fear on his youngest beta’s face, before climbing off Liam and smirking in triumph.

“Caught you.”

“Wow,” is all the younger boy can say, and Stiles can’t help the choked laugh that bubbles up and out into the cold air. Derek’s piercing gaze snaps up and over from Liam to Stiles between one heartbeat and the next, and Stiles freezes. Oops! He hadn’t meant to distract them. He scratches between an ear and hunches down inside his thin anorak, trying to make himself as small as possible.

The embarrassment reminds him of his discomfort all of a sudden, and he remembers that he’s cold, wet and tired. The whole exchange, which couldn’t have taken more than three minutes, had managed to hold his attention but he’s back to feeling sorry for himself and surplus to requirements before he knows it. It’s time to go home.

As Stiles doubles over to collect his sodden hoodie from inside the equally soaked shirt pile at his feet, he hears Derek call an abrupt end to the sparring matches. It’s as if Derek has read his mind, ludicrous as that idea is.

The rest of the group begins to surge towards the tree stump and Stiles scrambles to his feet to get out of the way. They start to retrieve their belongings, Erica and Isaac jostling amicably to see who can collect the other’s coat before they injure each other, when Boyd speaks up from the back of the group.

“Storm’s coming,” he says quietly, but with a gentle gravitas that makes even Derek shut up and pay attention. “Gonna be a wild night.”

“We should go out tonight!” Erica has gone from relaxed to practically vibrating before Stiles’ very eyes. He doesn’t understand her words for a moment but, when the others start to drop their clothes back onto the pile again, it dawns on him. They don’t mean out like a night on the town, they mean out as in out – out running and hunting and howling at the moon. It’s the night before the full moon so they are predictably enthusiastic about the idea, since Chris Argent specifically requested they don’t run the woods tomorrow, and they’re suddenly all speaking over each other in an attempt to get Derek to agree to the late night run-around.

“It’s Friday,” Derek says eventually, holding up a hand to instantly silence both Scott and his betas. Not that Scott needs his permission, but Stiles knows that he’d rather have Derek’s approval anyway. “You’re all spoken for at home?” Everyone nods their agreement and he sighs. “Well I’m not going to stop you then.”

The teenagers all start grinning and whooping except Boyd, who looks as happy as a heart-attack, but Stiles knows is happy inside – deep, deep down inside. Derek looks over at Stiles and frowns, as if only just that second remembering that Stiles is even still there. He looks deep in thought for a few seconds, then seems to make a decision.

“I’ll drive back with Stiles and then join you all out by the house,” he announces, and Stiles shuffles his feet awkwardly. He both looks forward to and dreads the times when Derek is his driving companion, but the decision is out of his hands. He’s already thinking up the least embarrassing conversation topics he can oh-so-casually slip into the predictably stunted conversation when Erica groans in protest.

“Come on, Stiles will be fine. Come with us.”

“But…” Stiles starts to say, before he’s interrupted by Scott of all people.

“Yeah. Stiles can find the way home without your help, Derek,” he teases, and Stiles’ mouth drops open at the taunting tone of Scott’s voice. Scott acted more like an Alpha every day, and Stiles wasn’t sure if he liked the latest developments much. “You said the other day you wanted to do more stuff with the pack. Now’s your chance.”

Derek looks torn, his face practically radiating indecision. Stiles can’t stand to see him so distressed over the idea that Stiles isn’t competent enough to drive thirty minutes home, so he resolves to make the decision easy for the older man.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll take these,” Stiles scoops up the whole pile of wet clothes and hooks them under one arm. “I’ll dump them in the dryer when I get home and you can have them whenever.” He climbs up and over the stump he’s been sitting on and starts to head for the road and the warmth of his Jeep. He can feel the cold leeching into his bones as the rain gets heavier, and just wants to get home as soon as possible so he can get dry. “Have fun!” That last part is half hearted but he doesn’t think anyone notices.

He doesn’t see Derek watching him go, worried eyes tracking his movements until he disappears over the ridge and onto the roadside. Derek knows that something is wrong with Stiles, has been for weeks, but he doesn’t know how to bring it up. Derek’s never been good at feelings, which he suspects are at the heart of Stiles’ distress. He’s especially bad at opening up when it comes to the boy who’s just passed out of view. He’s sure that when – and it’s definitely a when, not an if – he ends up confronting Stiles, he’s going to say something stupid. Something that will make the whole situation worse.

Something like telling Stiles how, recently, he’s been falling hopelessly in love with him.

***

Stiles doesn’t see the truck until it’s too late. His heavy eyelids close for only a few seconds, he’s sure of it, then there’s two bright lights shining into the cab of the Jeep, getting bigger and closer faster than Stiles can react. His head snaps up, hands on the wheel jerking hard to the right to pull the car back onto his side of the road, and then he’s flying. The road starts to spin outside, wet clothes mimicking the pattern inside, and then its blackness, blinding whiteness, screeching metal and broken glass. The tree comes out of nowhere, an almighty crunch that brings the vehicle to a deafening stop. Stiles hears rather than feels bones snapping somewhere inside his body, the sounds echoing over the ringing in his ears, then there is silence.

There’s water dripping on his forehead, Stiles thinks absently as he starts to see in shades of grey. It’s still raining, and that’s just freaking perfect. He recognises that tree, he thinks. It looks familiar to him for some reason, although he’s never seen it so close before. Oh, and now it hurts. His head, his chest, his legs. Everything hurts, and aches, and it’s so cold.

It’s cold, it’s wet and I’m alone, he thinks to himself as the darkness rolls in. It’s cold, it’s wet, and I’m going to die alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rescue comes and a decision is made.

It’s still cold, it’s still wet, and Stiles may, or may not still be dying. He thinks his body temperature is pretty low because he can hear his teeth chattering inside his skull, but he doesn’t appear to have motor control at the moment so he’s just trying to ignore the echoing click of enamel. He knows it’s still raining because he can actually see the individual droplets pooling one by one into the largest dent in the crumpled metal hood of the Jeep. The last part is up for debate at the moment, Stiles decides after taking stock of his situation, because he can’t really feel any of his body below the neck. He thinks his leg might be broken, based on the angle of his foot – which he can just about see from the awkward position he’s in – but he’s certainly not going to try to move and find out, even if he thinks he could.

Scott and Derek will find him soon enough anyway, then he’ll be good as new. Just a quick hospital trip, as always, and everything will be okay.

He waits in the dark, watching the water start to fill the crevice, which formed when the Jeep folded itself around the huge felled tree that Stiles knows lies just out of sight. The Jeep feels like it’s at a steep angle, meaning that the tree is likely partly underneath him right now, but the blackness makes it hard to differentiate any definite shapes.

His dad is going to be really mad, Stiles knows. This is the second time in less than a year that he’s been involved in a collision in his Jeep, and this time it feels like it might take more than a mechanic with a hammer and a bolt gun to fix it. He’ll have to make sure that he apologises to his dad every day till college for this one, because this wasn’t just an accident. This was stupid. It was his fault for been driving when he was so tired. He should have known better.

He should have told Scott, no, at school when he asked. He should have left with Jackson and come back for the Jeep later. He should have… He would have to tell Scott, the next time he saw him, that he wouldn’t be the designated driver anymore.

He can tell Scott when they find him, because Scott and Derek will come for him and then everything will be okay.

Stiles dozes restlessly, dropping in and out of consciousness. He doesn’t know how long he’s out, but the blackness doesn’t seem to have abated when he startles awake again. He doesn’t think it’s been very long at all, when he focuses his bleary vision on the hood again. The water droplets haven’t reached the lip of the crater yet. He can’t have been out more than a half hour.

Scott and Derek will be coming soon, Stiles thinks absently to himself as he starts to lose consciousness again.

His face and neck feel much colder when he wakes this time. He can’t remember from survival camp in middle school if that’s good or bad. It could be both. Stiles has slept on and off for several hours now, and he can see the sky starting to tinge with pink across the horizon. He can also see the faint outline of a tree trunk-like object starting to take shape through the smashed glass pane in the driver’s side door.

Maybe Scott and Derek don’t know I’m out here, Stiles thinks grimly. Maybe they don’t know I’m missing yet, but it’s only a matter of time. He knows that they’ll be here, as soon as they realise, then he’ll be on his way to hospital in no time.

***

Stiles has been watching a bug, he doesn’t know what species, crawling across the dash for what feels like hours. Part of him was hoping that he would pass out again – anything to pass the time until his rescue – but instead time crawls torturously slowly.

Lydia would know what bug it was, he tells himself absently as he watches it start to fly away before it comes back to rest just a few short inches away from where it started. She always knows stuff I don’t know. It’s not a supernaturally car crash but maybe she’ll know I’m dying, and she’ll get the others to find me. She’ll know.

Unless they aren’t coming.

He has to believe that the pack will find him, or he’ll go crazy waiting. Someone has to be coming for him. They will come! It’ll be okay!

He hears the crack of a twig behind him, and Stiles’ heart starts to beat faster in his chest. Not that he can actually feel his chest right now but, you know. If he could, he knows it would be. He hesitates for a moment, fearful against hoping in case it is just an animal passing through, then he hears a rustle of branches and the tell-tale sound of footfall on damp earth.

He should say something. Scott will hear him and come quicker. Maybe…

He knows that there’s a flaw in his logic somewhere, but he’s too tired to try to figure it out when his friends are so close by.

“Help!” It comes out as a whimper, a tiny sound and nobody responds. That’s weird. Stiles wrinkles his nose in confusion but that stings all of a sudden, so he decides not to do that again. He tries words again though, trying harder than he had ever thought possible to make himself heard. “Over here!”

He almost thinks it’s funny, that he is struggling to call for help when people usually can’t get him to shut up long enough to breathe more than once an hour or two. How ironic then that the attribute that’s brought with it the most death threats throughout school – most in jest, he hopes – could also bring about his real-life survival moment.

“Hey,” a woman’s voice responds abruptly, sounding a lot closer than Stiles expects. “I’m coming. Hang on.” Scott must have brought Alison. Only it doesn’t sound like Alison. He doesn’t recognise the voice from Adam, and for some reason that makes his eyebrows pinch together and his fingers curl up instinctively. If it isn’t Alison, who is it?

“Oh God!” the woman speaks again, and suddenly she passes into view around the passenger side of the crumpled car. “Please don’t die. I’m calling an ambulance. Please don’t die.”

She pulls out a cell phone from her jacket pocket and starts the tap the screen frantically. She looks up from the device long enough to clamber carefully over the fallen tree and then she’s putting the phone to her ear as she tries to pull open the driver’s side door.

“I’m not gonna die,” Stiles tries to reassure her, and she smiles gratefully at him, her lips tightly pinched at the corners and her knuckles white in stark contrast with the shiny black cell. “At least I hope not. Where’s Scott? Are you a friend of Derek’s?”

The woman, who Stiles now realises is probably not much older than he is, looks at him oddly but is distracted from her confusion as her call is connected.

“Hello, I need an ambulance.”

Stiles tunes out the conversation – one he’s heard a hundred times at this point, it seems like – and looks around for his friends. This woman must be a friend of Derek’s, or maybe a hunter friend of Alison’s sent to look for him. He had known that they would find him; they always did! They won’t be far behind. He starts to smile at the prospect of seeing his friends.

All will be forgiven, he decides cheerfully. As soon as he’s free from the clutches of the hospital, he’ll apologise for being a grump the last few weeks and smooth things over with Scott. He really is a great friend, despite everything. It’s amazing how a near-death experience can change your perspective on life and what’s important. So what, they didn’t always appreciate him, but who ever gets everything they want out of life. It’s the big things that matter, damn what anyone else says.

“Okay, Stiles.” He shifts his attention back to the worried looking girl as she shoves her phone back in her pocket. “I’m not supposed to do anything to try to move you. The paramedics are on their way and your dad has been dispatched.” She gulps, as if she is struggling to choke her words out. “I’ll wait right here with you, don’t worry.”

“What?” Stiles asks, not understanding. “The pack can pull me out no problem. Where are they?”

“What pack, Stiles?” She’s reaching in through the empty window frame now, pressing gentle fingers to Stiles’ temples one at a time. “Don’t move. You might have head trauma. You’re not making sense.”

“No,” Stiles protests, and tries to lift his head up. He manages an inch or two, but it’s too much effort and it lands back on the headrest with a soft thud. “The pack must have sent you. How else would you find me?”

“I was driving. I… I have this weekend job out on the farm just north of here and I saw the rear end of the cab sticking out of the bush. I stopped to check it out – we get a lot of accidents out on this road at night, but you know that – and here I am.”

“But why?” is all that Stiles can say. He can’t figure out the answers to the unformed questions in his mind so he asks again, as if that might help. “Why?”

“Why what, Stiles?” Stiles pauses for a moment. Why what?

“Why didn’t they come?” There it was.

“I’m sorry, Stiles.” The girl looks nearly in tears now, and Stiles is pretty close himself, although for an entirely different reason. He feels all of his newfound strength drain away like water down a plughole, as an entirely new reality jack-knifes its way into his very core.

“They didn’t come.” As if waiting for this revelation, his body choses this moment to set his mind adrift and he doesn’t even have time to apologise for passing out before darkness reaches up and drags him down one more time.

Scott and Derek aren’t coming. Nobody is coming. He sees it now. He’s cold, he’s wet and he’s never felt more alone.

***

He wakes to a beeping in his ears and an unshakable heaviness in his heart that he can’t explain. He blinks a few times to allow his vision to clear and feels a tear squeeze out of the corner of each eye. He breathes in deep, and his chest feels tight and constricted. He peers down from atop a mountain of pillows and sees that his chest is bare save for a large white dressing across his ribcage.

Taking a few shallower breaths, he manages to establish that he has probably broken a rib or two. It doesn’t take long after that to see that his right leg is elevated in a ceiling-mount, although something pain-killer adjacent is doing a great job at making everything feel fairly numb and he can’t really feel that leg. The bandage reaches up almost to the knee and it looks too big to be just a dressing. Plaster then, he concludes, which meant it’s undoubtedly broken.

No lacrosse for a few months then. That sucked ass! Scott would have to play without him for… The memories hit him then, and he gasps in agony. He’s in no extreme physical pain but this kind of hurt is so much worse, and the heart rate monitor beside him starts to beat out a frantic tattoo that he can feel echoed inside his sore chest.

He remembers the clearing, and watching the pack sparring. He remembers leaving alone – no, being left alone when everyone ran off to chase deer. He remembers the drive home, the heat of the crash and, worst of all, he remembers every second of possibly the longest night of his life. Every minute, every false hope he planted in his heart, playing out inside Stiles’ head in one all-consuming shade of pitch black. He’d sustained himself through the night by telling himself that someone would come – that his alpha and his oldest friend would find him, and they hadn’t shown. They’d left him to die to play chase and eat anything with a face.

Suddenly unspeakably angry, Stiles doesn’t notice the door to his room open until he hears his dad’s voice and sees his worried face peering in through the cracked-open door. He’s followed by a harassed-looking nurse with a scowl etched permanently into the deep frown lines of her face. She reminds him of everything Melissa McCall is not, and that just makes his heart hurt. His anger paints her with the same brush as her son in his heated fervour, and it makes his whole being ache.

His father paces the length of floor immediately in front of the door a few times, while the nurse changes some bags and drips on the IV by the bed, then he is tramping over to the bedside to be near his son.

“How you doing, kiddo?” he asks, but one look at the warring anger and exhaustion on Stiles’ face tells him more than a thousand words ever could. He sets his jaw and bends down, pulling Stiles into a fierce yet gentle embrace. The door clicks shut as the nurse left, but neither of them notice.

Stiles grips his fingers into his dad’s beige, state-issued shirt and held on for dear life. He still feels like kicking some serious werewolf ass, but he feels his resolve leech out of him moment to moment as his father holds onto him with equal tenacity. He’s angry and hurt and, oh, so much angrier than he could remember ever being before but, more than anything, he’s just tired.

He’s fed up of feeling tired.

“What happened?” The sheriff asks softly, without letting go of his son.

“They left me, dad.” It’s little more than a whisper, but the man hears it. He tucks his chin down on top of Stiles’ head and sighs. He had feared as much when Stiles had finally let him into the town’s worst kept secret. His son, as brilliant as he is, is altogether too human for his own good when it comes to his friends. It had been only a matter of time before something happened that got his son hurt. He’s just grateful that he’s still in one piece and breathing.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, and Stiles sniffles before answering.

“Nothing.” Stiles tells him finally, and the sheriff pulls back to look him in the eyes.

“Are you sure? I can arrest them all, if you want.”

“That’s okay, dad.” Stiles pats his father on the arm and leans back into the pillows. “I’m just tired. I’m tired of all of this.”

“You get some rest now then, Stiles. I’ll see about getting you released home tomorrow, if they’re happy you didn’t hit your head.”

“I didn’t…” Stiles starts to say, but a loud crash outside makes him pause and they both look towards the door. “What’s going on?”

“No idea,” the older man replies. “Wait here.”

“Okie dokie,” Stiles mumbles, already half asleep. Those must be some good drugs that nurse gave him. “Not going anywhere.”

The sheriff smiles down at him then slips out for a few moments, and when he comes back he looks tense. Stiles blinks away sleep long enough to ask him what’s going on again, but then his father’s large, warm hand is on his shoulder and he’s almost lost to the woolly clouds blowing in from beyond his mind’s eye.

“Everything’s fine, Stiles, don’t worry. I’ve dealt with it.” The man’s gaze shifts almost imperceptibly over to the closed door and back, his face betraying just a hint of the guilt and indecision inside, but Stiles is fast asleep and sees nothing. “I’m here to protect you, no matter what. I just hope I’ve done the right thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so can I just say thank you so much for all the amazing support for the first chapter of this fic. I would have responded to all the comments, but I thought writing the second part might be a more productive use of my time. Just know I love and cherish every one. Shout out to Eburn for winning the 'make the author laugh their ass off in the office' award with their comment.  
> As far as Chapter 3 goes, I'm hoping I will be able to get it out tomorrow since its the weekend. There will also be a special missing scene from this chapter at the start of that one, involving a tense chat in a hospital corridor. I wonder what that could be about?  
> Anyway, thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the hospital and the end of a very long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the obscene delay between this chapter and the last. Explanations at the end, but for now I hope you enjoy chapter three.

The deafening crack resounded through the waiting room, followed by an echoing clang as the newly dented metal door crashed into the wall, and the receptionist looked up just in time to see a pair of panicked looking young men storm into the hospital. Not being an unusual sight for a hospital employee in a town as incident-prone as Beacon Hills, she simply sighed and looked back down at her paperwork. Everyone had an emergency in here.

“Where’s Stiles?”

The tired woman looked up again to see the same two boys had crossed the largely empty room and were now glaring down at her like they might tear her in half if she couldn’t tell them what they needed to know. The shorter one everyone knew, largely due to the fact that he was Melissa McCall’s son and was in there almost every day, but today he looked constipated, like he might throw up at any moment. The taller one she also knew, since his face had been in every store front in town at one point. Suspected murder, she thought, but she was pretty sure that he wasn’t a suspect anymore. She hoped he wasn’t. He was really tall, and more than a little intimidating.

“I’m sorry,” she told them politely, ignoring her deepest impulses to hide under the desk and call her loved ones. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

“Stilinski. Stiles,” the older one choked out after a few moments, and the woman frowned. The guy was practically vibrating, a low growl rumbling out of his mouth. “Where is he?” She could almost feel the power rippling through her, radiating out from him, and she pressed a hand to her throat without thinking. It was as if she was reacting instinctually to some threat that only her subconscious could detect. She shuddered.

“Are you family, Sir?” she managed to ask, then faltered as his top lip curled and he clenched his jaw. Scott, who had been silent up to this point, stepped forward then and held an arm out towards his companion. The other man looked down at the outstretched limb, then flicked his gaze up to Scott.

“Derek, calm down,” Scott hissed, pressing his hand into Derek’s chest. The woman thought that the man, Derek, looked like he could easily shove past Scott if he chose to, but the touch seemed to calm him slightly and he ceased growling, or whatever it was he was doing to make such an unnatural noise.

“No,” Derek bit out after a few deep breaths had helped him to get himself somewhat under control. “But we need to see him. We… I need to see that he’s okay. Please?” His voice hitched at the end in such desperation that the woman felt her heart squeeze in sympathy. In an instant his entire demeanour changed and she caught a fleeting glimpse of a lonely man on the brink of… Of what, she wasn’t sure, but she decided from one breath to the next that she would help him if she could.

“Alright. One moment.” She smiled reassuringly at him and stood and walked to the opposite end of the long desk. She quickly pulled up the patient roster on the desktop computer that sat on the far side, before returning to where Scott and Derek were waiting. “Room 43. My records tell me that the sheriff should still be up there, so maybe you’ll run into him. Oh, and if anyone asks you didn’t get the room number from me.”

“You got it,” Scott told her solemnly, and with a small smile he turned to walk away. As Derek turned to do the same, the woman laid a hand on the counter to stop him before he left. He looked confused and more than a little pained at the delay, but he fixed her gaze with his own and waited to see what she had to see.

“I know what it’s like to be in here trying to see someone you care about when regulations say that, just because you’re not blood related, you’re not real family. My fiancée was in hospital after a car wreck last year and they wouldn’t let me see him for three days.”

“But he’s not…” Derek began, but the receptionist cut him off before he could finish.

“Don’t worry, honey. Just go see your boyfriend.”

She turned back to her paperwork and Derek shook his head as he turned away. She was way off the mark. Stiles wasn’t his in any way and he never would be, but they were pack and that was enough. That would have to be enough. That was family.

***

Scott was waiting outside the room when Derek made it up the stairs and found the right hallway. Room 43. The door was shut and the blinds pulled down over the window pane, making it impossible to see in. To see Stiles.

Stiles was just behind that door, Derek told himself. His heart was beating like a jack-hammer inside his chest and he knew that Scott would be able to hear it, but the other boy didn’t say anything. Derek could smell the faint hint of sweat hanging in the air between the two of them and knew that, as calm as Scott was acting, he was just as agitated as Derek was.

“Should we knock?” Derek asked, his hands in tight fists at his sides. He didn’t know what else to do, so he started to pace up the hall. One. Two. Three. And back down the hall again. The steady beat of his footsteps was helping him to regulate his heart rate a bit – he didn’t want to rush into the hospital room wound up like this; Stiles’ dad would probably arrest him and then he wouldn’t be able to do anything to help Stiles.

“I dunno, bro.” Scott mumbled, alternating between watching him pace and attempting to stare a hole through the closed wooden door. “Yeah, we should probably knock. The sheriff’s gonna kill us anyway, so we probably should try not to make it worse.

“I know,” Derek agreed, his footfalls never faltering as he paced. One. Two. Three. “It’s my fault. He should kill me. I should have driven back with Stiles. If I had just stayed with him, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s my fault too,” Scott protested and Derek frowned, shaking his head. “I basically forced you to come with us. If he’s mad at anyone it should be me.”

“Hmph,” came the reply. With Derek’s brief period of enunciation at an abrupt end, he started rifling through possible conversational scenarios with the sheriff, trying to decide how best to apologise for letting Stiles get hurt. He would ask to speak to Stiles, get him to help explain what had happened and hope the sheriff didn’t order them to stay away from Stiles for a couple of weeks like the time Stiles hurt his leg whilst out running with half the pack. Derek hadn’t even been there when it happened, but he had heard how out of proportion it had been blown. He could only hope for grace this time, when it was actually a serious accident.

He’d never admit it but he lived for the moments every day when he could pretend to be annoyed at Stiles’ silly commentaries on life or incessant jokes, whilst he secretly stored up the memories to tide him over on the days when they didn’t see each other. He knew that, over the past few weeks, Stiles hadn’t been his usual ray of indomitable sunshine, but he would make that right. He just needed to see him.

Scott had heard about the crash from his mom, who had been on duty when Stiles had been brought in, and had called Derek immediately to meet him at the hospital. Derek had left the house before the call had ended, climbing into his car before he could register that he had moved. It was like the news had caused the earth to move around him, and then he was here. He’d decided during the journey that he was going to do what he should have done weeks ago, that he would talk things out as the Alpha Stiles believed him to be, and help him with whatever was wrong.

All that was left now was to get past Sheriff Stilinski.

Derek was so deep inside his own head that he only vaguely registered the door to Stiles’ room opening and a nurse emerging with an armful of papers, and wheeling a small cart holding medical supplies. He saw Scott step out of her way out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t register the fact that his trajectory was a collision course until his hip impacted the trolley, and he stumbled as a small metal tray fell off and hit the ground with a resounding clang.

Instinct allowed him to avoid crushing the woman but just barely, and Scott rushed over to pick up the tray and hand it back to the nurse. She took it and left without a word, only pausing to shoot Derek a withering scowl before she was stalking down the corridor.

“Sorry,” Derek called after her, but she was around the corner before he could say more.

“Distracted much?” Scott asked, sounding bemused at the born werewolf’s complete inability to avoid a small, slow-moving human. He was right, of course. Derek could dodge bullets any day of the week, so why had his mental faculties and any semblance of the supernatural abandoned him all of a sudden?

Oh yeah. Stiles, that’s why. The scrawny human had Derek so irreparably wrapped around his little finger and he didn’t even know it. Derek was probably going to let him know by accident at some point soon, but right now that didn’t sound so bad. At least he would be alive to find out, even if he would just laugh in Derek’s face.

“Hey, look,” Scott whispered, loud enough for only Derek’s super-human hearing. Derek’s head snapped up just in time to see Stiles’ father emerging from the room, pulling the door firmly closed behind him.

“Sir,” Derek started to say, as Scott said “Hi Mr Stilinski.” The older man just raised an eyebrow and gestured for them to follow him down the hallway a bit.

“Thought you two might show at some point,” he said, not sounding surprised in the least. He had been expecting them to be at Stiles’ bedside before he made it himself, but he was glad that he’d got there first. It allowed him the chance to talk to Stiles alone first, to see what had happened before the whole group of them started to influence his son and warp the truth. Not that he ever suspected foul play with them but that many witnesses always made the truth hard to piece together accurately, just like at a crime scene.

“Yes, Sir,” Derek was the first one to respond. Scott opened his mouth, the sheriff noted, but seemed to defer to the older man to speak for both of them. “How is he?”

“Fine. He’s fine. A few breaks and sprains but nothing unusual for you lot, from what I hear.”

“That’s… I mean, I would never… What I mean to say is that we’re a family and we do our best to take care of each other.” Derek’s mind was working in overdrive, whirling in fifty different directions at once, but couldn’t seem to make them come out in a way that would allow him to explain, to make the sheriff understand how he felt.

“What Derek is trying to say,” Scott cut in, knowing from experience how difficult it was for Derek to speak from anywhere close to the heart. “Is that we would never have let Stiles leave alone if we’d known that he would be in danger.”

“Don’t see how you could’ve known he would crash his car, Scotty,” the man replied, glancing back down the hall towards the door he had just exited through. “He said he fell asleep at the wheel. Not your fault.”

“Oh God,” Scott whispered, and Derek and the sheriff shot him identical looks of confusion.

“What is it, son?” the sheriff asked.

“I asked him to drive Allison and Lydia out to meet us yesterday. I could tell he didn’t feel like it, but I didn’t even think about why. He did it for me. This is all my fault.” Scott looked up at the other two men in horror. “What if the girls had been in the car?”

“It’s my fault too,” Derek interjected. “I offered to go with him, but he refused. I could tell that he wasn’t feeling a hundred percent, but I let him go anyway.”

“From where I’m standing I can’t see how you could have stopped Stiles if he set his mind to something, so don’t be too hard on yourselves.” Derek tried to speak, but the sheriff held up a hand to stop him. “You two should go home and get some rest. I need to get back to my son.”

The man was halfway back down the hall when he heard Scott’s next question, and paused. He had known, if he was honest, that this was coming, but he had been hoping not to have to address it today. With any luck, they’d have left and he’d have had the chance to think before they discussed it, but it wasn’t anyone’s lucky day.

“Can we see him?” Scott asked.

Stiles’ words from moments earlier reverberated around inside the sheriff’s head as he turned and paced back down the corridor.

_‘I’m tired of all of this.’_

He sighed. He knew what he had to do, what he had to say. He knew, just from looking into the eyes of the two young men standing in that hallway waiting for his answer, the exact words he needed to speak to make them understand. He knew that it was going to change everything. He just hoped that it was the right thing to do. It had to be.

“No,” he told them firmly. “Stiles doesn’t want to see either of you.”

“But… Wait, what?” Scott stumbled over his words as he tried to process what the sheriff had said. “What do you mean, he doesn’t want to see us?”

“You heard me. I spoke to him just a few minutes ago and he would rather you and your friends left him alone for a while.” Scott’s jaw clenched. The man knew that at this point he was firmly twisting the truth – and he hoped that the werewolf mojo wouldn’t allow them to see through his partial subterfuge - but he also knew it was necessary. Stiles needed time to find himself again, away from the stifling influence of this particular supernatural group, and he needed to make sure that Stiles’ wishes would be upheld – even if Stiles didn’t know yet that this was what he needed.

“How long?” Derek asked slowly, and the sheriff found himself looking anywhere but into the taller man’s eyes. The pain and desperation he saw there was too much to bear and he knew that, if he kept eye contact too long, he’d be forced to come clean.

“That will be down to Stiles,” he told them, and he saw Derek’s shoulders droop where he stood. “Can I count on you to make sure you and your friends do what’s best for Stiles?”

Derek could feel his world crumbing around him, half expecting to see linoleum cracking and fissuring beneath his feet if he glanced down, but for once he knew what he had to do. He had put Stiles in danger too many times, had risked his life without thinking about how Stiles felt about it all, and now he had his answers. Stiles wanted them to leave him alone, to let him get on with his life, so that’s what they would do. Not one of them would force Stiles to speak to them until he was ready, he’d make sure of that. Stiles would have his space and his freedom, even if it caused Derek’s heart to break in the process.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Scott?” the sheriff asked, and Scott glanced at Derek. Derek nodded his head, looking utterly defeated, and Scott nodded once in acquiescence. If this was what really Stiles wanted and what Derek thought best, that’s what he’d do.

“Okay.”

Derek threw one last dejected look towards Stiles’ room before heading back to the stairs. Scott watched him go and thought to himself that he had never seen a person look so emotionally wrecked before in his life. Derek’s head hung low, and his arms swung by his sides loosely. His gait was slow, laboured, and Scott could hear his heartbeat slowing down with every step. This was a broken man.

“Bye, Mr Stilinski. Tell Stiles we stopped by.”

“I will.” Scott’s brow furrowed as he recognised the tell-tale blip in the sheriff’s heartbeat, but followed Derek down the corridor without comment. He’d noticed a slight blip earlier too, although he was fairly sure Derek had missed it, but he had yet to figure out what the cause was. All he knew was that, for whatever reason, the closest thing he had to a real father had just lied to him, and he was going to find out why.

***

Stiles leaves hospital that afternoon, after a doctor confirms that he is unlikely to have suffered head trauma in the accident. His dad drives them home in his cruiser and helps him upstairs to his bedroom. It’s difficult to adjust to the cast on his leg, and he really wants to itch at the bandages on his chest, but he knows that he’ll have to go back to hospital if he splits a stitch or aggravates an inflammation. The last thing he wants is to be back in hospital, so he tries to distract himself from the need to touch his wounds.

Distraction is proving difficult when his father comes back twenty minutes later with water, a snack and a bottle cap full of painkillers. He’s tried staring out of the window, but nothing moved for a full three minutes and it got boring. He’s tried sitting in his desk chair and spinning, but he kicked the desk with his good foot and has one more bruise, so that ended pretty quickly. Now his dad has gone back downstairs and he’s lying on his back staring at the ceiling fan. It’s really boring, as views go, but it’s not painful and it’s not the window.

The window is all sorts of trouble. That’s because he keeps half-expecting one or more of the pack to climb through it any second. He’s trying not to think about it, but every once in a while he’ll catch a flash of colour out of the corner of his eye and turn his head expectantly to look for a certain tall, broody werewolf climbing through the window.

He’s not coming though. Stiles knows that by now, but he can’t help it. He still looks over every single goddamn time, just in case. Just in case it is him, because Stiles needs to hold on to that tiny part of himself that still believes that Derek might come. Because if he loses that tiny shred of hope, if that tiny flame goes out, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. He might just lose himself with it.

***

Stiles eats his dinner in bed because he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to get down the stairs now, even with his dad’s help. His dad brings up two TV trays loaded with food and they eat together because he seems to sense that Stiles needs the company. He sits in the desk chair with his tray balanced awkwardly on his knee and Stiles appreciates the gesture, but too soon the food is gone and his father is leaving.

“Dad,” Stiles calls, and his dad pops his head back around the doorframe again.

“Yeah?” Stiles sees the forced smile, the over eagerness to please him and sighs.

“Never mind.”

***

Stiles gets himself ready for bed, as thoroughly as possible for someone with severe restrictions on motion, as soon as the light starts to fade below the trees. It’s semi-dark when he switches the light off and tucks himself under the white bedsheets, but it’s not really dark enough to sleep. Stiles closes his eyes anyway, praying for sleep to take him. Sleep will be a mercy. Anything to distract him from the endless passage of time.

Sleep doesn’t come. Stiles lays in his bed, staring at the ceiling for what seems like hours. He glances over at the alarm clock on his night stand after a while. He can just make out the digits, flashing neon green in the darkness, announcing that it is 12:01. It’s the end of another day. Just another day that turned out to be the worst day of his life. Tomorrow couldn’t get worse, could it?

He turns his attention back to the white ceiling fan, spinning lazily in the light breeze from the empty open window, and allows the warm, salty tears to roll down his cheeks onto the pillow below.

Tomorrow can’t possibly be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while. For that I can only beg forgiveness. I got sick, then it was my birthday, and then my grandmother was involved in an accident. For reasons that ought to be obvious, I felt like posting a chapter about the aftermath of an accident was inappropriate when I could be looking after my own family. I hope you understand. Anyway, thanks for reading. Respond in the usual way if you want. I'll post again as soon as I can. :)


End file.
